Daily thesledgehammers and thesad-eyed mules of men, &there was Christ hung likedried bacon, and nowthe con-men raking it it:the young girlsthe mansionsthe trips toParis, and look:even great artists the great writersraking it in.but where do we go while the great writers aresaving their own souls?where do we go?...to hell, of course, juggling theircollected worksunder ourcollectivearms.(C.Bukowski)